


Cigarette Daydreams

by Kawaii



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cigarettes, Even though the author does not in any way condone or encourage smoking, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, This is literally just a fic about the inherent eroticism of sharin a smoke with the homies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaii/pseuds/Kawaii
Summary: “Tim, you’re drunk,” Jon whispered.This seemed to give Tim pause, and he took another drag and tilted his head as if in thought. He then noticed that Jon’s own cigarette was once more extinguished by Jon’s own forgetfulness, and with another dash of his patented cockiness, Tim turned his cigarette around and offered it up to Jon.“And maybe I am. What of it?” Tim asked.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	Cigarette Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> Warning that I'm not British and don't know if smoking rituals across the pond are the same as they are in the States, but I felt like the presence of the lucky cigarette would be really important to Tim.
> 
> And on that note, this fic is brought to you by the some of the last dregs of nicotine I have to my name until I'm old enough to buy smokes again (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> (Title from Cage the Elephants)

It was another late night for Jon where he was once more left alone in the Archives. He wasn’t sure why he did it, considering that he was salaried and didn’t get paid overtime. They’d all been fighting tirelessly for months against the towers that Gertrude had left them as one last parting gift. Even now as he walked among the stacks, trying to figure out what to tackle next, it still looked just as horrific as it had when he’d first been offered the position.

Jon ran his fingers over the piles of paper, feeling the different ages of papers that had all been haphazardly stacked together. Some felt like they’d been taken recently, while others felt like they’d been lingering in the Archives for decades. What connected them? What was it about them that made his predecessor lump them all together? Or was she just some poor old woman whose dementia had gone much too far, with no one to keep her organised.

But God, how was he to know? He’d never talked to the woman, yet his job was to somehow decipher whatever cryptic “”organizational system”” she’d been using and somehow digitalise everything while he was at it. So far his assistants had been invaluable in helping him with his impossible tasks, save for _Martin_ , who was so inept that he barely knew how to use a database, which really--

Jon stopped himself in his tracks, and forced himself to take a deep breath. In, out. It wouldn’t do any good to give himself a headache over Martin’s nonsense. Tim and Sasha had both demonstrated their skills and had been of great assistance over the past few months. Really, it was a wonder they had yet to pick up on his own incompetence. It _had_ been months already, and Jon was still far from unraveling whatever Gertrude had done before him, and they had barely even touched any digitisation efforts. It was also a wonder that Elias hadn’t said anything yet about his lack of progress, but it was surely just a matter of time until he would catch on.

A stack of papers slid off the edge of a table and went crashing down to the floor, and only then did Jon realise his hands were shaking. Oh.

He hadn’t allowed his anxiety to get to him this badly in a while, but the way it snaked around his chest in tight compressions and left him trembling wasn’t unfamiliar. It was especially bad in uni before he’d met Georgie, before she’d taught him how to calm himself. Before he’d wrecked a perfectly good relationship.

With a curse, Jon tumbled towards his office to collect his jacket. He’d be back to finish the statement he’d been pouring over, but he needed to clear his head and London wasn’t known for its balmy weather.

He was outside soon enough, adjacent to a side door that would allow him to slip back into the building just as easily as he’d left. He leaned back against the unforgiving brick wall behind him, his head tilted up to stare at the smoggy, starless night sky. The thought was enough for his fingers to make their way into his inside pocket, where he had a pack of Silk Cuts tucked away with an old lighter of his. He’d quit years ago and would swear it up and down to anyone who asked, but it never hurt to have some insurance for nights like these.

It felt so familiar to slip a cigarette out of the pack and hold it to his lips, inhaling deeply as he lit the end. The dry heat lazily seeped into the back of his throat, then dipped down into his lungs. Before he even had time to process the calming sting at the back of his throat, he closed his eyes and exhaled all of the toxins. With them, he imagined all of the toxins in his brain leaving too. He was working himself to the bone, and he knew if he kept at it he’d figure it out soon. Just one little end of thread sticking out of the Gordian knot that was the Archives, and eventually he’d untangle the whole mess into something more sensible.

“Hey boss, whatcha doin’?”

Jon’s eyes flew open as he jolted up from against the wall, seeking out his unexpected guest. Sure enough, Tim Stoker was standing in front of him with a wry smile. The dim street lights above seemed to reveal a warm flush to his face that didn’t match the nip of the cool night, and his normally perfectly quaffed hair was now askew.

Was Tim… Drunk?

Jon wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden intrusion, and only barely managed to spit out a quick “Nothing.”

Tim’s grin only seemed to widen at that, and it wasn’t hard to follow his gaze to Jon’s still lit cigarette. He quickly hid it behind his torso with a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that he didn’t set his coat on fire, then fixed his harshest glare on Tim.

“Was there something I could help you with Tim? You seem to be a bit too intoxicated to be returning to the office.”

Despite the fury Jon had carefully packed into each sound, Tim just shrugged it off with a smooth roll of his shoulders.

“Alright, you caught me. It’s a Friday night Jon, you could stand to have those every once and awhile. I realised as I was heading home that I left my keys in my desk. So if I passed the pop quiz, do I get to ask what you’re smoking?”

Jon bristled at the question, wishing in equal parts that Tim would stop prying and that his cigarette was still lit after all this.

“I’ve quit smoking,” Jon spat.

Yet again, this only seemed to further encourage Tim. He quickly lunged at Jon and reached behind him, easily pinning him against the wall and retrieving the cigarette that had definitely long since gone out.

“Mm, doesn’t quite look like quitting to me. Do you have another?” Tim enquired politely.

Jon winced at the reminder that he’d broken his pact. He really hadn’t smoked in quite some time, but sometimes it just helped to clear his head. God, he already hadn’t talked with Georgie much since his promotion, imagine if she found out he’d taken up smoking again?

Tim seemed to care about absolutely none of Jon’s inner angst, and leaned in closer to flick him lightly in the forehead. 

“Is that a no? It’s fine if you don’t, but it’d be polite to at least answer me.”

His fingers once more shakily returned to his inner pocket to retrieve his pack, then mutely offered them up to Tim, who held them up to inspect under the dim glow of the street lights.

“Purple 100s? Decent choice, but I’d like to speak with whomever taught you to smoke.”

Tim laughed to himself and closed the pack up again, before sharply smacking the bottom down against his palm a couple times. He then opened it back up, selected a cigarette to remove and return flipped upside down, then finally selected his own.

It hung idly out of his mouth as he pushed the pack back into Jon’s pocket, then reached for the lighter that shined under the small amount of artificial light that filtered between their close bodies.

Something about Tim holding the lighter-- _his_ lighter-- up, finally got a reaction out of Jon.

“You can’t just intrude on my personal space, steal my smokes, and smack them around like that! You’re ridiculous!” Jon sputtered.

Tim simply held Jon’s cigarette to his mouth as an offer and held the lighter up underneath. Despite his protests, Jon’s nicotine craving was still far from satisfied, so he accepted the offer and the light. Tim quickly moved onto his own, and blew his smoke out into the void beside where he and Jon were crumpled together.

“Yet you haven’t pushed me away. I have to say, I never would have pegged you as the type.”

“It’s an ugly habit, I picked it up in uni during one of countless all-nighters, and then quit when my- ah- ex convinced me to. But it takes the edge off, so here we are,” Jon explained as he pushed his hair out of his face with his lit cigarette still in hand, all the while trying to ignore how close Tim was.

It seemed that Tim wouldn’t be making this easy though, as he ran his free hand up to gently cradle Jon’s jaw. It felt alien to him after years without the touch of someone close, but.... Not entirely unwelcome. Maybe the sleep deprivation had finally destroyed any common sense he had, or he was getting a contact buzz off of Tim, but the touch felt nice. Tim was drunk though, and probably just didn’t have any impulse control right now.

“Tim, you’re drunk,” Jon whispered.

This seemed to give Tim pause, and he took another drag and tilted his head as if in thought. He then noticed that Jon’s own cigarette was once more extinguished by Jon’s own forgetfulness, and with another dash of his patented cockiness, Tim turned his cigarette around and offered it up to Jon.

“And maybe I am. What of it?” Tim asked.

Jon snatched the cigarette from Tim’s outstretched fingers, perhaps more forcefully than was required, and took a long drag off of it. As long as there was smoke in his lungs, he would be able to stall on dealing with whatever situation he was in right now. Tim’s hand was pressed against the wall above his head, boxing him in, but the other side was completely open. Jon could easily escape from Tim’s proximity at any time if he wanted to. Yet he was still here.

Sure, he’d idly thought about it as he watched Tim sit on Sasha’s desk and pull jokes out of midair that sent her into peals of laughter, or as he watched Tim roll his chair and softly bump into Martin’s own chair with a grin, but it was just that: thoughts. Tim Stoker could get anyone he wanted. There was no reason for him to go for someone like Jon outside of proximity.

“You shouldn’t make decisions you might regret,” was all that Jon could come up with to defend himself.

Tim immediately flicked the cigarette to the ground, and Jon couldn’t watch to see if he put it out under his foot because Tim was suddenly closing the already impossibly small gap between them. His previously occupied hand snaked up to mirror the other, and Tim carefully grasped both sides of Jon’s jaw as he pressed their lips together with an urgency. 

None of it made sense to Jon. He’d come out here for a smoke to ease his nerves, and now he was standing stiffly as Tim was softly holding him. There was always the possibility that he’d fallen asleep at his desk again and this was just an incredibly strange dream, but it seemed too vivid for that. But then Tim was pulling away, and Jon was much more sure this was reality.

For the first time that night, Tim looked unsure. He seemed much more sober as his eyes flicked across Jon’s face, which was still softly cupped in his hands. He was clearly searching for something, and Jon thought back to what awaited him back inside. There were still countless more stacks of statements to sort through, stacks that would probably take years. In front of him was Tim, cheeks still slightly flushed and lips puffy and glistening with spit.

The choice was easy.

Jon just barely pushed up off the brick wall behind him as he grasped at Tim’s hair and smashed them back into a kiss. It was a messy, needy movement as his glasses most likely dug into Tim’s skin, but he didn’t seem to care. He made a soft humming noise in surprise, then pushed Jon back into the wall and pressed against him. Jon felt himself enclosed on all sides, with a brick wall pressing into his back and Tim pressing against him in a warm, inviting embrace that he never wanted to escape. 

Encouraged by the incredibly positive response so far, Jon pushed his luck further and opened his mouth up. He wasn’t the most experienced, but he certainly had his own drunken moments in uni, and it wasn't as if he and Georgie never did _anything_. But he was cautious as his tongue probed towards Tim’s mouth, who enthusiastically welcomed it and met it with his own. 

They both tasted awful, passing the acrid flavour of stale smoke back and forth, but neither of them cared. When they eventually separated for air, Jon marveled at the image of Tim before him. His hair stuck up wildly where Jon had frantically tugged on it, and his face was flushed much darker than it ever was earlier. The most important part was Tim’s lips though, swollen and slick with their shared spit.

Jon watched those lips as they rounded themselves, allowing Tim to speak, and it took him a second to focus on the actual content of the words and not just the movement of it.

“Jonathan Sims, you son of a bitch, you’ve been hiding this from me for too long.”

Jon recoiled at this. Maybe he’d misread Tim’s intentions and he was actually trying to instill some shame in him picking up such an awful habit again (and rightfully so). Or maybe he wasn’t actually interested in Jon at all, and now he knew way too much about the improper view Jon had towards his own assistant. Oh God, his assistant. This was the textbook definition of a workplace imbalance, and if Jon’s own incompetence wasn’t going to get him fired then this certainly would, and rightfully-

“I’ve been watching you chew on your fingers and pens and anything else you could get your hands on and I thought you might have been taunting me, but you responded to exactly _none_ of my signals. I figured you just weren’t interested, but then I catch you out here nonchalantly curling those pretty lips around a cigarette and then you go and do- do _that_? Jesus H Christ Jon, you’re going to kill me one of these days,” Tim said as he ran his hands through his hair.

Jon just stared at him, and let the actual weight of the situation sink in. He had actually broken his no smoking pact, which somehow led to him making out like a teenager with his assistant, all against the wall of their shared workplace. Panicking, he quickly started wriggling to extricate himself from underneath Tim.

“Tim, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m your boss, you’re drunk, this was incredibly unprofessional of me. I’ll resign first thing Monday morning, you shouldn’t be put in a toxic work environment like this-” Jon rambled as Tim backed away and let him have some personal space.

“Hey Jon? Earth to Jon. In case I somehow didn’t already make this clear enough, I wanted every part of that and more, and have since before you were even promoted. Back in Research I couldn’t even get work done because I was distracted by you.”

Jon felt his own face heat up at the thought of Tim watching him all those months ago, then quickly waved the thought away. Even if Tim really wanted this, he didn’t understand what he was actually getting.

“But- I don’t even do the rest of that.”

Tim’s familiar cocky grin returned as he reached out and swiped a stray droplet of spit from the side of Jon’s mouth, then punched the code for the building in and pulled the door open.

“Jon, I swear to you I would never make you do something you weren’t comfortable with, scouts honor. We’re just coworker friends that just so happen to kiss sometimes. Now I’m gonna go grab my keys and head home, and if you even think about sleeping on that dingy cot again I won’t hesitate to drag you all the way to my flat. Now, coming with me or sleeping in your own bed that isn’t owned by the Institute?”

Jon grumbled and reached for the door, following Tim inside to the warmer office. Internally though, he was reassured that this didn’t have to mean anything, and that Tim didn’t expect anything further of him.

“Something tells me you were never a scout in the first place,” Jon replied, and then caught Tim staring at him with an incomprehensible warmth in his eyes.

Maybe he could learn to start enjoying Friday nights.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this in two hours and tried my hardest to edit it, but I'm tired and don't have a beta reader so I might come back and fix stuff tomorrow
> 
> And in the spirit of being brave!! You can find me on tumblr @haltsunemiku, please come scream at me about new episodes or plots or anything at all


End file.
